by Dani Stowe
But so be it. I was recruited into this business because I understand pain and how worthless pain can be. I joined NIM because I believed I deserved more than to be bullied and beaten. And, as I reach down to grab Nancy’s top to hand it to her, helping her to put it back on—I recognize how bruised Nancy is. It’s what always attracted me to her—the fact that everyone always wanted her for her body. Even her parents pushed her to dance because that’s all they thought she had to offer the world—her body in motion. I’ve been lying to myself if I hadn’t thought the same. I helped to develop this drug because I wanted her body too, but I also wanted her to want me and my body if we should ever run into one another again.
I open the limo door and scoot my legs out as I question, “How much money do you need?”
“I’m not taking your money, Tiny. Take me back to the club.”
My brow raises and I hunch to peep back into the limo. I’m irritated. It feels like she hasn’t learned to make better choices. “You’ll take someone else’s money, but you won’t take mine? Are you happy wiggling your ass for some shmuck when you could easily just choose to come home with me? I appreciate what just happened between us, Nancy, but I swear, you won’t have to do that again if you don’t want to.” I feel like we are back at the end of our date when we were younger and I’m about to lose her once more to some undeserving asshole.
She folds her arms and clenches her legs together. I believe I’ve just embarrassed her.
“You don’t understand.” She rubs her forehead. “I owe someone money and I must give them the cash by morning. Please, Tiny. I can’t get you involved and taking your money would just be inappropriate.”
“Inappropriate?” I’m fuming. “Inappropriate?” I repeat. She clearly has no idea who I’ve become. If there ever were such a thing as the most inappropriate bastards on earth it would be the Lords of NIM.
But it looks like she’s not going to budge, so I reach for her legs because I’m not going to let some other fucker get inappropriate with her. Not tonight. And not after what we just did together. “Get the fuck out of the car, Nancy. What would be inappropriate is for me to let you shake your ass all over someone else’s dick after I just put mine in your mouth. What kind of man would that make me? Hmm?” I grip her ankles. “I already told you, you’re not going back there.”
“All right!” she kicks her legs free of my grasp. The drug has definitely worn off.
“Get out.”
“I am.”
“Now.”
“Then get out of the way.” She kicks me in my chest nearly knocking me backward. We are both stunned. “Sorry,” she says. “I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s fine,” I lie. It was an accident and probably my fault.
I step aside and follow her with my gaze. The second she comes free of the limo, I put my hand behind her neck to make sure she doesn’t get any funny ideas and try to kick me again or slip away. She’s not my captive, but I still don’t know the person she’s become...at least, not while I’m off the Bang. And if there’s one thing I need her to know that’s changed about me, it’s that I’m a beast when it comes to being possessive.
Chapter 6
Nancy
“Get in the shower,” he bosses.
Tiny certainly has changed, I think as I step into the tub.
He’s not just physically changed, but his personality is different as well. It’s much more different than I could’ve anticipated. When I think of Tiny when we were younger, I’d always thought he’d end up happy, but still chubby in a cute little cottage with a chain link fence that secured a couple of tiny Chihuahuas cared for by his cute, short, plump wife who also baked cookies for their chubby little kids that would get into all kinds of fun trouble like Chunk and the rest of the gang from Goonies.
But the way Tiny walks to the way he talks, from the way he smells and to the way he grips me is not what I expected. Even the way he decorates his oversized studio apartment with two lonely pieces of bamboo furniture—his bed and a triangular jute barstool in front of a slate stone kitchen island among stainless steel accents and slate gray walls—makes the space look like a cave, a dark cave. A 2x2 foot picture of what appears to be a rainforest gives the impression of a third smaller window. The fact his apartment feels cold and nearly empty, despite his obvious wealth, says he’s guarded.
I imagine perhaps he got beat up a few too many times. I think about the worst time—when he was put in the hospital after he got beat by my psycho ex-boyfriend. It was so long ago, but it still makes my blood curdle. I do believe that time was my fault—not directly, of course. But it was about me and I did nothing about it because I was afraid to.
I still ask myself all the time: How could I have not stepped in to help someone who saved my life? And he almost died!
“I have some clothes for you.”
My body clenches with Tiny’s interruption; I’m still getting used to his voice. That’s different as well—not as carefree or sweet but direct and very low. Unlike the observant and passive kid he was, the man he’s become is demanding.
I slide the frosted glass shower door open to peep out. Tiny has no shirt on and he’s spreading shaving cream all over the lower portion of his face and neck. I bite my thumb. His pants are also hanging low, showing off the peaks of his abs and the valleys of his V lines. The man is enormous. Not bulky, but tall, though, his pecks do bulge solid. I have no doubt he works out excessively, which is why his hands are so calloused. I used to think Tiny was big before—round and wide—but he’s certainly not round now. He’s pure muscle. There’s not an inch of fat on him.
I watch him shave his face clean, but then he places more shaving cream at the center of his chest. He shaves that, too. I gulp when he undoes his fly and pushes down his pants and then black briefs.
My chest shudders as my breath hitches from a glimpse of the size of his dong. Fucking. King. Kong. I still can’t believe I had that thing down my throat. Tiny grabs a different shaver and spreads some shaving cream around his groin and along the root of his shaft. What is he doing? He’s shaving it. He’s shaving his dong!
He pauses the razor and his shoulders shake with a laugh when he catches me spying in the reflection in the mirror.
“Never seen a man shave his parts before?” he smiles widely.
I blush and shake my head but it doesn’t deter him from continuing, raising a brow every now and then to make sure I’m still watching.
He finishes and uses a towel to smooth away traces of shaving cream. He looks smoother than a horse’s ass and I’d like to whip it, although I believe someone else has already beaten me to it. “Are those your girlfriend’s clothes?” I’m peeved.
He pauses before he pulls up his briefs and pants to peek at the folded clothing between the double sinks. One sink is decorated with men’s toiletries, the other sparkles of chrome, unused and undecorated. “No, I don’t have a girlfriend. I actually don’t date either, but I do have a lot of sex.”
The space between my legs tingles just thinking about the possibility of having sex with Tiny, but the idea he does it “a lot” also sends an uncomfortable shock down my spine. “You have a lot of sex?”
“Mhm,” he blinks bashfully. His beard now gone cannot distract from his blushing cheeks. “Do you want to have sex?”
My hips twitch but my heart is at odds with the rest of my body. In the limo, I wanted to hold him, squeeze him, and stroke Tiny until he was delirious with the embrace of my guilt-fueled affections as I soaked in what I thought would resemble his once sweet, warm essence that had become nicely repackaged into an evolved strong, hunky colossus of a man.
But now, it feels like he’s reverted back to being the big ape who abducted me—simple and direct in his approach. Do you want to have sex? It’s hardly romantic. Perhaps this is the reason he doesn’t have a girlfriend. But how is he having sex if he’s not dating? And he says he has a lot of sex.
He slides open the shower door,
poking his smooth face in. Again, he looks different. There is more of a resemblance to the kid he was, though with or without the beard, he’s definitely fuck worthy. His eyes have changed the least. They possess a needy hunger I figure will never go away. As an innocent child—a geek, he was forced to face the wild until he was captured by Nick and the rest of the lost boys of NIM. It appears on the outside he’s been refined, like Tarzan. But on the inside, I sense the beast still lurks.
Tiny’s eyes glaze greedily over my wet body. He repeats himself. “Do you want to have—”
I shake my head. “I don’t really want to have sex.”
He nods, biting his beautiful dark pink plump lower lip, trying to hide his disappointment.
Hmm, those lips. Am I sure I don’t want to have sex?
“Hey, why’d you shave just now?”
He leans in further. “I guess you’ve noticed, I’ve lost some weight, grown some hair but I recall you mentioned you didn’t like hair when we were younger.” He laughs, rubbing his smooth cheeks. “It hurt a little when you didn’t recognize me. I don’t want to scare you any more than I did. So, how about now? Does this look make you feel more comfortable?”
I nod and smile shyly, trying to contain the jumping jacks my insides are doing, making me completely uncomfortable with desire.
Tiny’s bicep flexes and a vein looks like it’s about to pop when he puts his hand upon the slate gray stone tiled wall to support himself. His hands are so large and the memory of his hand on the back of my head helping me to swallow him turns me on.
“Nancy, how much money do you need?”
I bow my head, turning to face the shower. “You know what, Tiny? It’s okay. I don’t need the money.” I swallow. Hard. I do need the money, but I don’t want his.
“What’s the money for?”
I sigh. “Nothing. I just have some bills I need to pay.”
“But earlier you said you needed cash because you owed someone. What kind of trouble are you in?”
I roll my eyes. “I’m not in any trouble.”
He grits his teeth. “Don’t lie to me.”
Oh great, the gorilla is back.
“What are you? My overly possessive boyfriend? I’ll have you know, I don’t date those types anymore.”
“I hope not, but we’re old friends and I’m just trying to help a friend out. So, tell me what you need the money for?”
“I can’t.” I shut the water off, turn around, and push on him to get past him. I lean to get a towel and he smacks my bare ass! “Tiny!” I snap.
“Tell me what the money is for.” He rubs my bare butt.
“I’m not telling you after you just smacked my ass,” I mutter into the towel. It didn’t really hurt, but the unexpected shock did.
Tiny grips my hips, drops to his knees, grabs, and kisses my bottom. The soft heated touch mixed with the scrape of his strong hands makes my blood pulse. “Is that better?”
I shudder as he plants another kiss. When I’m dancing, men are usually grabbing, although they’re instructed not to, so this is nice. Tiny’s kisses are sweet. He plants them all over my bottom and one close to my center sending more shock through me than when he smacked me.
“You don’t have to kiss it.” I push his head back and rub my ass, smearing slick trails of what’s left over from his wet kisses.
“Can I smack your ass again?”
“What?” I ask although I know why he’s asking. It’s because I swatted him a few times on our date years ago. I do believe he’s trying to get me back. “No.”
“But I want to smack it so I can kiss it and make it better.”
“I’d rather you leave my ass alone.”
Tiny gorillas my thighs, wrapping his bulky arms around them to plant his mouth at my crease. I feel embarrassed to be so exposed to him this way. I can feel his nose right in my crack and I can’t move, although I don’t want to anyway as he licks up and down along the exterior of my slit, which is getting moist and after I just dried them.
“Your cunt then,” he mumbles into my folds where his tongue slips between my lips and into my hole, making me buck against his mumbling, “I’ll just kiss your cunt.”
The tip of his tongue finds my clit and I lean forward, grabbing the towel bar. A finger invades me and then another. It makes me feel guilty. I don’t know how in the hell this happened. I really shouldn’t be here because I need cash but damn, Tiny is making me feel so good. I haven’t felt this way in so long and the urge to blow on his face is overwhelming.
It’s like he can read me—swirling his two fingers round and round inside me until I hitch, then he pumps me until I become loose, and then he fondles at my G-spot until my hips buck forcing his face to get deeper between my crack. And his tongue does the same—stroking, then swirling, then flicking, but always in response to me—like he knows me, like he can read me, like he’s been studying me or studying... sex?
I do have a lot of sex—that’s what he said! Is that how he knows what to do and how to do it so well? I wonder how many women he’s had?
“Ow!” I yelp. He’s just smacked my ass again and this one stung!
“You’re thinking too hard, doll face. I can tell. And I can tell you want this, so focus. I want you to come on my tongue.”
He swipes my clit with a thick, long stroke and grinds it circularly stronger. Oh shit! He’s not fooling around. My body gets tense in anticipation of what’s coming.
“You’re almost there, baby.” He pauses to speak and then licks and pauses again. “Focus, you’re so close.”
He pumps my pussy harder and faster with his fingers. How does he know I’m close?
The edges of his square teeth graze the edges of my clit, and... yes! He’s right. I am close. I’m so, so, so, so, so close. He growls into my pussy as he ravages me and the vibrations of his vocal chords send me over the edge—I come.
“Mmm,” he moans into my crease, licking and lapping like ice cream is melting and flowing from my orgasm. “Oh, Nancy, you taste so good, baby. I want to fuck you. I want to fuck you all night long and make you come again and again.”
Fuck me? All night? Oh, dear Lord, what am I still doing here?
I quickly flutter down from the intensity of my orgasm, realizing I shouldn’t be here. If I can’t come up with the money, then I need to leave now.
I push Tiny’s head back and scoot by him to get back in the shower to soap my center quickly and then rinse.
“I feel like something’s wrong,” he says, watching me. “Did I do something wrong?”
Hmm. The big ape, who thinks he can slap my ass whenever he wants and cage me in his apartment has a conscience.
“I have to leave.”
“Stay.”
He leans in the shower again, except he’s not groping me with his lustful gaze. He looks sad. He wears the same sad face he had at the end of our date when I ditched him to be with a psycho.
“Nancy, if you don’t want to tell me what the money is for, that’s fine, but I want you to stay. I’m happy to give you whatever amount you need. I know we started this reunion sexually,” he blushes, “but I want to catch up with you. Let me take care of you at least for tonight.”
He wants to take care of me? The ballerina who became a stripper? And the chick who left him to die?
My guilt is overwhelming. “I’m sorry, I just can’t,” I say, coming out of the shower and drying myself.
He watches me. “I understand your reluctance to stay. I, of all people, should understand this. I’m normally smart about these things and I should’ve been smart about the way I behaved when I first saw you. I probably shouldn’t have grabbed and abducted you because, indeed, I do know better.”
These things? Does he regret pulling me from the stage?
“And how would you know better?”
“Relationships. I know how relationships work. I’m an expert.”
Relationships? He just said he doesn’t have a girlfriend and he doe
sn’t date. How in the world could he know how relationships work?
He may have been sweet back in the day, but every member of NIM was also known to be cocky when it came to challenging their brain matter. “And what makes you an expert at relationships?”
“My job,” he squints, looking at me funny.
His job? Like I would know. I haven’t seen him in years. I have no idea what he does at NIM. I’m guessing he had no idea what I’d been doing either up until tonight.
I grab the red stretchy lace underwear from the counter and slip it on. “You sell drugs for NIM, right?”
“No,” he laughs. “I’m a sex therapist. I help people and my research helps to forge the drugs my partners produce.”
I slip my feet into the shimmery, stretchy red pants and shuffle a bit to help pull them up but stop when I notice Tiny is licking his lower lip, watching my tits bounce through the mirror as I pull up my pants. I’m getting off on the way he’s looking at me—so hungry. It makes want to feed him. But if I don’t get it together, I won’t be able to pay my bills.
I focus on our conversation. “So, you’re like a counselor of sorts?”
He cocks his head, narrowing his eyes. I believe he feels insulted. “I’m a doctor. I have a doctorate in psychology. I’ve published hundreds of papers and a few books.”
I grab the white frilly chiffon shirt and grumble to myself. No bra. I toss the shirt over my head, coming to the realization I’m in another woman’s clothing—a woman who must’ve spent the night. A woman who obviously dressed herself to look like a holiday—Christmas or Valentine’s.
“A doctorate? Oh, that must’ve been tough.” I didn’t even make it through my first semester of liberal arts courses at community college, but in my own defense, it’s because I truly believed I was going to make it as a real dancer.
“I enjoy the subject matter, so it wasn’t difficult at all.” He runs his hands through his wavy dark brown hair, leans his back on the wall, and folds his arms across his chest. His abs and biceps ripple as he does this and I’m wishing the panties were not lace but cotton—I’m going drip right through to the pants.
